Sherlock's Great Fall
by OnewAyOnly
Summary: It wasn't possible right? There was no way Sherlock Holmes famous high-functioning sociopath had, of all things, fallen in love with his flat mate Jane Watson. The course of true love never did run smooth. AU Fem!John, in denial Sherlock (but eventually accepting Sherlock), and of course fluff.
1. Realization

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** So John is Jane, has always been female (in this story anyways). Pretty fluffy.**

**For those also reading _Pint-sized Flatmate,_ I promise I WILL UPDATE SOON! School has been crazy busy, but I will finish that story even if it kills me! (it probably will, but never fear) ****I did this fanfic as a more or less compensation, for the long wait.**

**Well, enjoy :)**

* * *

No.

No. No. No. No. No. **No.  
**  
It just simply wasn't possible.

It was completely illogical and utterly pointless!

He was a _high functioning __**sociopath**_ for crying out loud! He did not _**do**_ relationships. He didn't even have friends!

He just had one.

And there was no way that he had fallen in _**love**_ with Dr. Jane Watson!

It wasn't that Sherlock partially disliked her company, per say.  
Yes, she would always listen to, and not just hear, his deductions. Yes, it was worth answering all her boring questions if only to hear her praise his abilities with her sincere, "brilliant!" or, "fantastic!" Not only that, but Sherlock found that he could better organize his thoughts with her around.  
She was his conductor of light. She helped him to focus better, to _be_ better.

And she did it all with just being herself.

But this did not mean that he, _Sherlock Holmes_, had fallen in love with his flat mate. So what if whenever they accidentally touched his stomach did a weird flip? Or when Jane would dose off during a late night cab ride and rest her head on his shoulder, his heart would beat the same way it did during a high-speed chase? It meant absolutely nothing that whenever Jane gave him a genuine smile he couldn't hold back a grin of his own.

He had not fallen in love.

They were simply flat mates. They were only as _close_ as flat mates.

_Surely_ all flat mates knew when the other was unhappy by the way they would do their hair, or know when the other was glad by the jumper they wore. _Of course_ other flat mates would know when the other had a stressful day at work by the way they would open the door.

_No they wouldn't. _Said the little voice in his head.

_**Of course they would. **_He responded.

_Face it, you are attracted to her. _It stated stubbornly.

_**NO I AM NOT.**_

_Then why do you become so upset when she goes on dates with other men? _The voice taunted.

_**Because they don't deserve her!**_

Honestly, Sherlock couldn't understand why Jane insisted on dating such _inferior_ men. _They_ didn't deserve her smiles, her laugh, her time that she took getting ready to go out when she already looked so beautiful, _they_ plainly didn't deserve **any** of her Janeness.  
Could _they_ cure her limp? Could _they_ give her that rush of danger that she needed? Did they know to what degree she liked her bread toasted to? Did they know that her middle name was Hannah? Or how much she hated it? Could any of those _idiots_ sooth her back to sleep with music when she was suffering from nightmares?

They didn't, and couldn't.

Jane had entrusted these things to **him**. They were friends, _partners_.

Jane was meant to be **his**. And he was meant to be hers.

If anything could have proven otherwise, it would have been The Woman. But even with all her tricks and seducing, she couldn't make him lose what he felt towards Jane. The Woman couldn't cause his pulse to quicken, make his eyes dilate. And all because she simply wasn't Jane.

There was no one like Jane, no other person in the world. No one else could make a psychopath like him care, no… love.

And he loved everything about her.

Her perfect scar, her soft blond hair, her magnificently blue eyes, her short height, and her jumpers and jeans. He loved her modesty and humility, which somehow made her even more charming. He loved her fierce righteous anger and love for humanity. He loved how she had openly accepted him, yet cared enough to not let him stay the way he was. Sherlock loved everything _about_ Jane.  
But, did he love _her_?

Painfully slow, Sherlock reviewed all the data. He went over every detail, and left nothing in his mind palace that included Jane unsearched.  
Till finally, he came to a conclusion.

Once he had discovered it, he had not even the faintest idea of what to do with it, or whether he should act on it. But he had to tell someone, and fast. His finding was overwhelming him. He just had to confess it, to say it with his own mouth. But who to tell?

Telling Jane herself was so out of the question, that the thought of it went into his mind's recycle bin before it was even formed. Mrs. Hudson would overreact, and probably tell every living soul. Lestrade would most likely be dismayed, as he had also at some point had an affiliation for Jane _(As if he had a chance)_. Mycroft would never understand, he'd likely mock him. His skull, well, his skull was nice to chat with but this was something important. He needed to tell someone, someone who would care enough to listen. Someone who wasn't Jane yet knew him enough to at least comprehend the tiniest bit of what this feeling was doing to him.

Sherlock began to fully realize why he had avoided emotions for so long. Although he no longer disagreed with them, they were so bothersome. The thought, the yearning to say it, was consuming Sherlock's mind. In fact, he was barely functioning well enough to make tea for his enemy's visit. If Sherlock didn't tell someone soon, then Moriarty wouldn't need a bomb to make him explode.

* * *

"Cause I owe you a fall Sherlock." Moriarty finished with quiet malice. Sherlock carefully set down his teacup and stood up in a fluid motion. He reached down to grab his violin, turning his body away from his enemy while positioning the instrument to play it. For a long time silence reigned, till Sherlock broke it.

"I fail to see how you will accomplish that, seeing how I have already fallen for my flat mate."

Well there was no denying it now. Sherlock Holmes had done it.

He had fallen profoundly in love with Jane Watson. And he had fallen hard.

* * *

**_I had so much fun with this I will probably add more. Don't worry though, I am putting "Pint-sized Flatmate" as my numero uno priority._**

**_Plz R&amp;R! _**


	2. Dilemma

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****Still alive! so sorry for the loooooong delay, anyways here's Jane's side of the story. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Yes.  
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. **Yes.**

It had happened.  
It was official and nearly set in stone.

Even though she was an educated doctor and a trained soldier. Despite all good sense and warnings, she had done it.

She, Jane Hannah Watson, was a complete and utter fool.

She had fallen for a self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath.  
She was in _love_ with _Sherlock Holmes_.  
And it was just about the worst mistake she had made in her entire life.

Honestly! She might as well just invade Afghanistan again! She'd have more luck with that.  
But it was bound to happen. Coming back home after getting shot had felt like the end of her life. She had felt so depressed, so empty. There wasn't anything left for her to live for, not really. Or so she had thought.

Then Sherlock Holmes had come along.

This man, this consulting detective, with his amazing abilities, had opened her eyes to a world she had never seen before. To a world that she would never have had _any hope_ of seeing if it wasn't for him.  
That man, in one day, was able to succeed where her family and therapist had failed. Sherlock had given her new life, a new reason to _live_. Something that had been put out within her was reignited, and it was to the credit of Sherlock Holmes.

So shame on herself for not seeing it coming. But what they had, their friendship, was perfect. How many other single men and women could live together without the atmosphere being awkward and untrusting?  
Sherlock could be annoying pain sometimes, but when it mattered he would always come through.  
He never looked down on her because of her gender, he never thought any less of her because of her war injury. When others looked at her with pity, he pushed her to be the best that she could be. He trusted her to have his back. And she trusted him.

It wasn't like that with all the other men she had dated. There wasn't that sense of assurance, that reliance that both Sherlock and she had on one another. Maybe that was why she would drop everything in the middle of a date when Sherlock came calling. None of the other men could compare to him. Sam probably came the closest, but in the end she still chose her life with Sherlock over him.  
Jane knew their relationship wasn't ordinary. No average person chased murders with their best mate and then settled down to drink tea over bad telly together.  
_They had something special._  
Which was exactly why Jane didn't want to ruin it with her confounded feelings.  
She knew, just as well as anyone else who was acquainted with Sherlock, that he just didn't deal with emotions, or he would say "sentiment". He despised it. He would always become so moody and irritable whenever she would go out on dates, his disapproval of romantic relationships was as clear as day.  
If anything proved that it was that _Woman_, Irene Adler.  
Ugh! How she loathed that woman! Calling herself _The Woman_, as if she was the only one that men should even think about as a woman. But even through her detestation, Jane could easily see how someone like her could be attractive to Sherlock. But Sherlock didn't stay with her, he didn't lover, uh, that is love her back. And though it made her heart soar, it also crushed it into pieces. Because if a woman like that couldn't acquire his love, then what chance did _she_ have?

And what if she did confess her feelings? What then? What if Sherlock not only didn't feel the same way, but also _pushed_ her way like he had with so many others? She wouldn't be able to take that. Jane would rather _**never**_ tell him, than ruin their friendship.

So, for the sake of their relatively peaceful and happy companionship, Jane would forsake her feelings and be content with simply being friends.

At least that's what she tried to tell herself.

* * *

Mondays must have been especially made for the sole purpose of being hated.

Still half asleep from last night's late case, Jane took one last sip from her tea mug before putting it in the sink. Slipping on her coat and stuffing her wallet and key into her pocket, she tried to figure out how she was going to make in to the clinic in under seven minutes to avoid being late to work, again.  
She was partway out the door when she was stopped by her flat mate's sudden cry of, "WATSON! WAIT!"  
Turning to face Sherlock with one foot still out the door, she was rather surprised to see her usually stoic friend with a seemingly nervous expression on his face.  
Sherlock had been very distant lately (even more so than usual), it had especially worsened after Moriarty's court case.

"What is it Sherlock? I have to go or I'll be late for work."

Sherlock cleared his throat and began fixing- fidgeting with? - his wrist cuffs.

"Yes, well if they haven't fired you already because of all the previous times you've been late then they won't do it now. Besides, they'd be fools to fire you."

Not really knowing what to respond Jane said nothing, and a rather awkward silence continued till Sherlock broke it, speaking a little louder and faster than necessary,

"Well, obviously I wanted to wish you farewell, and well Watson, ah… that is to say Jane, I… well, I just wanted you to know that… that, I well, I… I have a very deep regard for you."

Jane couldn't hold back a blink of surprise at his strange declaration. But standing there, staring right into his eyes, she wanted nothing more than to say, "Well that's great but I love you, you big idiot."  
Getting a grip on herself, Jane offered him a small grin and a, "Don't worry I'll pick up a gallon of milk on my way back."  
Shutting the door and stepping outside, Jane tried to push out of her mind the confused, almost hurt look Sherlock had given her before she had shut the front door._ It would be okay_, she told herself. Their relationship was better this way, it was just fine as it was. It was all fine.  
_Then why did knowing that he could never love her back the way she loved him, hurt so much?_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****Yay! Now that their feelings are established, ACTUAL PLOT CAN BEGIN!**

**P.S. I know this one was a lot shorter than Sherlock's POV, but Jane's feelings are just more straightforward than his. **


	3. Revelations

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yay! My longest chapter ever! A Thank you to all of you following this story, it _really _helps motivate me. So, I gender-swapped Athena to "Antonio" because it just makes things more interesting. Sorry for any errors and hope you enjoy :D**

**P.S. point of view is not only restricted to Sherlock in this chapter.**

* * *

Well, this whole "sharing one's feelings" thing was _extremely_ tedious.  
You would've thought a sociopath never admitted to being in love before.

Telling Jane how he felt had been a disaster, but then again Sherlock wasn't exactly an expert on these kinds of things.  
Perhaps, if he knew how ordinary people expressed that they loved someone, he would be able to find a way to make Jane understand.

* * *

Maybe explaining himself to Lestrade as the man was drinking his morning coffee, was not the best timing.

Sherlock looks over some of the cases on the DI's desk while he waits for him to get over his choking fit. All of them are dull, boring, and predictable.  
After a couple of seconds Lestrade's breathing finally regulates, but his eyes are still comically wide.

"I'm sorry Sherlock my hearing seems to be off but, DID YOU JUST SAY THAT YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH JANE WATSON?!"

"Yes, yes, that has already been established. No need to let _all_ of London know." Sherlock responses with a frown, "Do try not to be any slower than you usually are."  
His frown only deepens when he realizes that Lestrade is still sitting in a shocked-motionless state.

"_Oh for goodness sakes_! Snap out of it before your IQ becomes even lower than it already is!"

Lestrade only blinks owlishly at him.

"Sorry. It's just that I wasn't aware, that for all the years I've known you, that you were capable of feeling… _emotions_."

Sherlock scoffs at him, "Don't be ridiculous, there have been many instances when I have felt annoyance and irritation towards you."

"Ah, right" The Inspector's eyebrows suddenly scrunch up in confusion.

"Hang on, if this is true and not a prank, why are telling _me_?"

Sherlock had hoped Lestrade would avoid this question, but now the man wouldn't be able to move on with the conversation if he didn't answer him. Grimacing as he answers Sherlock comes clean,

"Because, my efforts in trying to make my infatuation clear to Jane have all turned up unsuccessful. It would stand to reason that receiving input from someone who is more on level with Jane's cognitive process will yield more productive results."

Lestrade was quiet for a while, no doubt trying to translate all that Sherlock had said into_ common_ language. Sherlock knew he had finally managed to do so when the Inspector's face broke into a wide smile.

"So, let me get this straight," His eyes alight with humor, "You, _the Great Sherlock Holmes_, are asking me for _advice _and _on women_?"

"And what is so amusing about it?" Sherlock asks, not denying it, and looking very much like a peacock whose feathers have been ruffled.

Lestrade tries to cover a rising laugh with the fakest cough Sherlock has ever heard.

"Nothing, *clears throat* nothing at all. So… you need help getting her to know that you love her?"

"Yes." Comes a small reply.

"For starters, you can't just say you have a _'deep regard_' for someone, and expect them to decipher that you actually _love_ them from that."

"Then _how_ would you express your deep _affection_ for someone?" Sherlock asks, huffing in vexation.

"How about telling her plainly 'Hey, I love you' _hmm_?"

"Please, that would **never** work."

"And why not?"

The consultant doesn't say anything, but when Lestrade gets a good look at Sherlock's despondent face, he can't help but blurt out,

"Oh Sherlock don't tell me that you're afraid of _rejection_!"

The man once again doesn't respond, which in itself is enough of an answer. Lestrade doesn't need to be a detective to figure that one out.

"Oh for- Sherlock! _Of course_ she loves you back! Don't tell me you haven't noticed!"

Sherlock blushes faintly, and asks in an almost embarrassed whisper, "She… really _loves me_? Not as a friend, but as a… _you know_?"

"Yes, of course she does! How have you managed not to- aren't you supposed to be _good_ at all that deduction stuff?" Lestrade exclaims, still exasperated over how dense his friend can really be.

"Well if she loves me, _why did she never say_ _anything_?!" Demands the dumbfounded, yet overjoyed man.

"Sherlock, everyone believes that you _abhor_ any idea of a romantic relationship, or _any_ type of relationship for that matter. Jane probably believes that you do too, _that's_ why she never said anything about it."

The gears in Sherlock's brain are rolling at break-neck speed, he is certain that his heart is going to burst at any given moment.

"What do I do?" He pleads, not caring how desperate he sounds.

Lestrade knows that there are just sometimes when a best mate has to lay it out clearly. And this is definitely one of those times.

"Listen, if you don't tell her that you love her, then you are going to_ lose_ her. Someone else will come and _snatch_ her away and that will be the end of that. But," he continues, ignoring Sherlock's painful expression, "if you don't want that to happen, if you _really_ love her, you will simply tell her. And try to be _obvious_ about it! I'm taking about like, Anderson-could-solve-the-case obvious."

At the reference to Anderson, Sherlock's face twists in distain.

"Don't insult Jane like that."

"I wasn't trying to. Also… I think it' s best if you tell your brother about this."

He didn't think it was possible, but Sherlock's expression became even more disgusted at the mention of his brother. The man starts to open his mouth, to protest no doubt, but Lestrade raises up a hand to stop him.

"I know you two are not on the best of terms, but I believe it will be better for both you and Jane, okay?"

Sherlock pouts for a bit, but eventually nods his head in (_reluctant)_ agreement. Lestrade gives him an encouraging smile before gesturing towards the door.

"All right then, good luck mate. And I'm glad that you feel that you can come to me with this."

Standing up from the chair he has been sitting in and most assuredly planning on continuing to brood over having to tell his brother, Sherlock's face suddenly brightens when he is about halfway to the door.

"What is it?" Lestrade can't help but feel he is going to regret asking.

"Oh nothing," Sherlock says with false innocence, "it's just that I only now realized that I am asking a _divorced_ man for relationship help."

"_Ha, ha._ Get out of here before I arrest you for officer harassment." The DI threatens with no real malice. All he can do is shake his head as an all-too smug Sherlock makes his exit.

* * *

Once outside, Sherlock pulls out his phone and sends a quick short text message to his brother. He _hates_ how he is going to just hand over this sensitive information to his meddling brother, but Mycroft _will_ find out eventually. At least this way he gets the satisfaction of seeing his elder brother's shocked expression.  
Sherlock stays on the streets, walking close to the road for when Mycroft's people find him. Let them search for him, he needs time to go over all the data he has acquired.

Lestrade had said that he needed to be more 'obvious' in showing Jane that he truly loved her. But the only thing he could think of to make it even more obvious was proposing to her. It was the only logical course of action. After all, they already shared a flat and lived comfortably together. They knew each other's habits and lifestyles, and most importantly, they _knew each other._  
Why not put a ring on it?

Sherlock barely had time to contemplate this before a shiny black car pulled up alongside him.

* * *

The atmosphere inside the luxurious car was, in the least to say, quite tense. All that could be heard was the _click_ of cellphone keys as a certain PA continued to relentlessly type away. Sherlock sat opposite of the man who worked as his brother's assistant, glaring at him with intense scrutiny.

"_Click. Click, Click. Click."_

"…"

"_ClickClick. Click. Click."_

"…"

Unable to bear the famous 'Holmes Stare' any longer (_which was saying something because he had been exposed to it many times over the years he had worked for Mycroft_), Antonio decides to address Holmes the Younger.

"Is there a _problem,_ Mr. Holmes?"

"…"

"Mr. Holmes?" Antonio questions again, still not looking up from his blackberry.

"You flirted with Jane Watson before." It was not a question.  
Not able to hold back a sigh, Antonio tries to pacify the self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath sitting across from him.

"Look, Ms. Watson onl-"

"That's _Dr. Watson_ to you."

The only reason Antonio _doesn't_ roll his eyes is because it means taking them off the phone's screen.

"_Dr._ _Watson_ was the one who flirted _with me_. And nothing of great significance came from it."

"You gave her your _real_ name," The consulting detective accused, "even though you had _hundreds_ of fake ones to choose from."  
The PA fell silent and momentarily paused his typing, contemplating whether or not to respond back truthfully.

"It didn't… seem right, to lie to her, not when she had been so sincere in asking."  
In truth, Ms. Watson was the most sincere person he'd ever met. If she liked or hated you, she didn't try to hide it. She had no ulterior motive or hidden agenda, she was one of the few people Antonio could honestly say he trusted.

"Then I am _sincerely_ telling you to **back off**."

Now Antonio would be lying if he said he hadn't been attracted to the good doctor, but that didn't mean he had ever made a move on her!  
Becoming increasingly agitated with the possessive thickheaded detective, and at the direction the conversation was heading in, Antonio allows himself a snarky reply.

"Don't you actually have to _be on_ something to be able to _back off_?"

"So you _were on_ something! Admit it!"

The man looks all but too ready to bring an axe down on his neck, confession or no.

Seeing how there is no way to make the detective see reason, or to give a dignified response to his accusation, Antonio promptly gives up and turns his full attention back to his phone.  
He _so_ does not get paid enough for this.

* * *

"Is this for a case, or just to spite me?"

Being caught off guard was a _rare_ experience for Mycroft, and as the 'British government' there weren't many things that fazed him.  
Unless it came to his little brother.

Said younger brother had just burst into his office declaring that he was going to _propose_ to his flat mate. Now it wasn't that Mycroft had a low opinion of Dr. Watson, on the contrary, she had been a most welcomed influence on his wild brother. But Sherlock? In love? And ready, no, _willing_ to commit to a personal relationship? North and South Korea might just sign that peace treaty after all.

Sherlock, pleased to have been able to throw the Iceman off his game, answers his brother with a smirk.

"I assure you Mycroft that I am _dead_ serious. I love Jane and she loves me, I am going to ask her to marry me."

Only someone who has known Sherlock for his whole life would have been able to tell that the man was not as confident about the situation as the claimed to be. But Mycroft could still clearly see the resolution in his eyes, he was deeply in love with Ms. Watson.  
He really should have seen it coming.

Not one to throw-in the towel so easily, Mycroft makes one last final attempt. "I don't suppose there is any point in trying to convince you to slow down and _think_ things through?"

"Is there ever?" He responds with his infuriating grin.

Oh well. If things are going to go down this way they might as well get it over with quickly.

Sighing tiredly Mycroft tries to gather more data.

"And, who else knows about this… _unexpected revelation_?"

Sherlock simply shrugs his shoulders. "You know I don't appreciate unwanted attention. The only ones who know about this are you, Lestrade, and…"

As the silence grows, Mycroft looks up from the paperwork on his desk, his own dread steadily increasing at the dawning look of horrific realization on Sherlock's face.

"_Who else knows Sherlock?_"

The party in question glances down at his shoes, then back up to Mycroft's face, then back down to his shoes.

This _cannot_ be good. Not with his little brother looking the _exact _same way he had years earlier when he was a boy. A young boy who had to explain to his parents why the neighbor's cat was now permanently hairless.

After swallowing audibly, still refusing to meet Mycroft's eyes, Sherlock continues, "Ah, I may have also conveyed this information to… Moriarty."

Oh Heavens have mercy.

Being surprised twice in one day, in under the span of an hour, did _not_ leave Mycroft amused. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, and wonders (not for the first time) _Why me?  
_"You mean to tell me, that you basically _handed_ your heart on a silver platter to the very man who threatened to **_burn it_**?!" Mycroft tries (_and fails_) to keep his voice under control.

Sherlock bristles and makes a half-hearted attempt to defend his actions,  
"Obviously I wasn't thinking as clearly with all the new emotions I was getting acquainted with."

"_Sherlock!_ YOU WEREN'T THINKING AT ALL!" Mycroft yells back, slamming his hands on his desk in a rare show of frustrated anger.

Despite himself, Sherlock flinches, the fullness of his loose-lipped stupidity hitting him head on. He had revealed something _incredibly crucial_ to his archenemy. _He had put Jane in danger._  
Burying down all pride deep,_ deep_, down, Sherlock takes an even deeper breath and looks at his brother straight in the eye.

"I know I have done something… foolish. My actions have put Jane in harm's way. Will you… please, put up extra security on her?"

Even less than the times Mycroft hads been surprised, are the times Sherlock has ever asked him for something. And for him to do so now,_ for_ Jane, Mycroft no longer has any doubts that his brother has truly fallen in love.

With a hard-to-place tone that can only be described as one belonging to an elder brother, Mycroft assures his little brother in a firm voice.

"Of course I will. Consider it done."

A small, yet real and thankful smile reaches Sherlock's lips. He nods his thanks and slowly walks towards the door.

Antonio for one is_ flabbergaste_d. Standing in the corner of Mycroft's office (still texting of course), he believes he has just witnessed the most peaceful, almost _brotherly_, exchange the two siblings had_ ever_ had as adults. Maybe their relationship would be different now. Maybe they were both turning a new leaf.

"Oh, and Sherlock?"  
And maybe Antonio had spoken too soon.

It was impossible to deny that Mycroft was back, once again to his usual self, especially when he gives Sherlock his signature smirk.

"Next time you feel the urge to disclose the secret of your heart, might I suggest _your skull_ rather than someone who considers themselves your arch foe?"

Sherlock slips just as easily back into his original self. He flashes him a self-satisfied smile, "Good-bye _dear_ brother, don't expect an invitation to the wedding."

He slams/shuts the door, leaving Mycroft and his assistant alone. And though he knows his little brother can't hear him, Mycroft doesn't make any effort to stop the words that come from his mouth.

"Oh Sherlock, _who_ do you think is going to _plan_ the wedding?"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** Yikes! I don't think I'd want Mycroft to plan my wedding (maybe just to pay for it though XD).**

**I'll try to make more frequent updates, I'm excited because Moriarty will be making an appearance in the next chapter!**

**REVIEWS WELCOMED **


	4. Confrontations

**Author's Note:**

**I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, ****I'm sorry, and I'm sorry.**

**But between life, school, and writer's block****…well, you know how it is.  
****Anyways, thank you to all of you who are still following this story, I hope this chapter makes up for the delay. I don't think the violence in this chapter is that bad, but I upped the rating just to be safe. I apologize for any mistakes or errors, I am after all my own beta.  
Enjoy :)**

* * *

This was it.  
Sherlock was finally going to do it.  
He was going to propose to her. As soon as they caught the runaway criminal, turned him in, and were alone he would ask Jane.  
Of course, that _had _been the plan, but the darn culprit had decided to make a break for a deserted dark alleyway.

Fortunately, Jane was able to catch up to the man and effectively knock him down with a well-placed kick to the back of the knee.

As Sherlock began to stride over to them, he couldn't help but finger the container that concealed the engagement ring. The ring box felt like it was burning a hole through his coat pocket.  
He was just a few feet away from her. Jane was already slapping a pair of handcuffs onto the man's wrists. It was happening, Sherlock couldn't believe he was actually _really_ going to do it.

Suddenly, he stopped short. Something was wrong. The London night air whipped past him, highlighting how alone they were. There were no cops, no people, not even a decent number of streetlights. It was an ideal place for a crime.  
As if reading his thoughts, the man Jane had pinned down made some sort of signal with his cuffed hands.

From the shadows of the buildings enclosing them, men (looking entirely too thuggish) began to emerge. Sherlock instantly sprang into action, throwing a punch at the attacker closest to him. He had to get Jane out of here, how could he have been so stupid as to not notice the signs of danger? Sherlock was honestly beginning to question the wisdom of being in love.

The men attacking them were relentless, but at least they had not been sent to kill them. Although that fact in itself was not much comfort. Sherlock had already lost sight of his partner under the blows of fist that were raining down on him.  
Like it or not, the duo had been caught unaware, leaving them at a major disadvantage. Outmatched in terms of numbers and muscle, Sherlock wasn't too surprised when the assailants were able to over power him to the point of injecting something into the side of his neck.

The world started to spiral and his vision dimmed. His last thoughts before the drug took full affect were about Jane's safety.

* * *

It was the relentless pounding of her head that caused Jane to come back from the depths of unconsciousness.  
Slowly her senses returned, and she was a bit disturbed to find that she had been left rather immobile, and in complete utter darkness. Jane looked from side to side, but she couldn't find any trace of light.  
She knew she wasn't blindfolded because she didn't feel any pressure on her face or head, but she was definitely tied to something. A cement pillar was her best guess. She was also indoors, if the cold metal floor was anything to go by…WAIT…_where was Sherlock?_ Jane lurched forward in her bonds, calling out "Hello?"

"Jane!"

She nearly collapsed in relief, never so happy to hear that baritone-like voice.

"Oh Sherlock, you're trapped in here too?"

"If by trapped here you mean tied to the other side of the pillar in this locked room, then yes I am." At least he hadn't lost his sense of humor.

Her racing heart calmed a bit by knowing that she wasn't trapped in this place alone.

"So… any ideas on how to escape?"

"Five, possibly." He responded, testing his bonds again. "Give me a minute to thoroughly analyze our options"

Jane fell silent and let her body relax against the pillar she was tied to. Sherlock would figure it out. It would be okay.

She was still having difficulty breathing, the air felt…stuffy, like she couldn't take in a proper deep breath. Besides Sherlock's muttering, there weren't any other sounds, just suffocating darkness. Come to think of it, she couldn't even hear any air-conditioning.

Oh…oh my.

Realization punched her in the gut, leaving her slightly breathless. Jane didn't know if it was her imagination, but the room suddenly felt a great deal smaller and hotter.

"Sherlock…" Jane whispered in quiet panic.

"I know. Just, don't freak-out it will only make things worse."  
Sherlock didn't sound like his normal self, not that Jane could blame him. It was a bit disconcerting to find out that your kidnappers had locked you in an airtight room.

Who would have thought that despite all the death-defying experiences they have managed to survive together, they'd end up dying from carbon monoxide poisoning?

Jane was beginning to feel the onslaught of a spectacular headache.

"So, this is how it ends."

It comes out as more of a statement than a question.

After a couple of seconds of futile struggling, and no doubt frantic mind whirling, Sherlock lets out a defeated sigh.

"So it would seem."

Trying to hold on to the last bit of her sanity, Jane whispers loud enough for him to hear, "Breathing is boring anyway."

The two burst into fits of hysterical giggles, their mirth only subsiding at the sobering thought that their air was running out.

A strange sort of silence descended on the pair, a silence filled with loud thoughts but no actual voices. How does one even put their final moments, all their joys and regrets into words?  
Jane wasn't sure how, but her heart wouldn't let her die without being able to somehow show Sherlock how much he meant to her.

There was no way of knowing how this would play out, or whether it would be well received by Sherlock, but Jane was willing to risk it. She just hoped it wouldn't completely ruin their few remaining minutes.

"Sherlock, I know that you're not a fan of emotional situations, but seeing how we are probably going to die… I want you to know that meeting you was one of the best things that has ever happen to me." Pausing her speech to check if he had any input, and getting none, she finished up in a rush, "I am proud, and lucky, to call you my friend."

There she had said her piece, at least now she could die in somewhat relative peace.

"Jane…"

Oh great.

Sherlock knew that now was the time, he had to say it now or he would never get another chance to do so. But he had absolutely no idea of **how** to do this.

"Jane, I could say that I was happy being your friend, but that would be a lie."

Well, he certainly managed to butcher that sentence.

"Oh gee, ta for that Sherlock."

"No," he protested, trying to somehow salvage his mishap.

"What I meant to say was, that I am not happy being just your friend, because… I wanted-no, I _want_ us to be more than that."

"No, no, stop. _Stop right now_." The steel in Jane's voice rocked him to the core. He could practically hear her defensive walls going up. But he refused to let that sway his conviction.

"Jane, I am going to tell you something that I probably should have told you long ago, but never had the courage to do so-"

"Please stop, please. Y-you...deduced it somehow. You're just trying to spare my feelings."

Sherlock could have banged his head on the pillar, they were definitely _not_ good at having heart-to-heart conversations, and all these interruptions were not helping things move along. Sherlock took deep breath (not too deep though, for obvious reasons) and tried to start up again, "I am not trying to spare your feelings! I'm trying to tell you about _mine_, _before we DIE!_"

Even though no one could see her doing it, Jane shook her head.

"You don't have feelings Sherlock! At least not the kind I'm talking about-"

"Jane Hannah Watson, I love you!"

There, he had said it, a tremendous weight falling off his shoulders as soon as the words came out. Now that he had finally been able to say it, the rest just came pouring out.

"I love you Jane." No words ever tasted sweeter. "Ever since you saved me that day from the cabbie, you have never ceased to amaze me! You have challenged and changed the way I perceive things. With you I am better, you are my conductor of light! I have never enjoyed being around people before, but now I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.  
I love you."

Sherlock was panting towards the end. He had been sure that he would run out of air before he had a chance to finish. He couldn't believe that he had done it.

But it wasn't over yet.  
Jane had not responded. She was giving no form of reply, or even any inclination that she had heard him. He was beginning to dread that her answer might be one of refusal. But what if it was worse than that…what if she simply didn't answer?

For a while, all that could be heard was Jane's and his breathing.

"I hold a very deep regard for you as well, Sherlock."

And that was all it took for a smile to form on the consulting detective's face.

* * *

Time had passed, Jane didn't know how much nor did she care. Not anymore.  
Even though she was tied to a pillar and was probably going to run out of oxygen soon, Jane couldn't have been happier.  
Sherlock loved her. _Her Sherlock loved her._  
She could die in complete happiness right now.  
There was a pleasant silence between them again, but not like the one before. Now, the quiet was full of bliss, as if all their cares had been forgotten. Their love made the heat feel bearable. Not even the darkness bothered Jane anymore.

"Jane, let's get married."

Trust Sherlock to say the one thing that could pull her out of her happy daze.  
She tried to turn her body to the sound of his voice, despite the bonds holding her in place.  
"You want to get married? Now?" she squeaked out.

"Yes now, why ever not? " Impatience seeping through him, it seemed that being at the doorstep of death just made him bolder.

"Why ever not? Sherlock! We don't have a priest, judge, or anything people usually need when they decide to get married."

"Since when have we ever done things according to society's standards? I don't need a certificate or a man with titles to tell us we are married, If you'll have me, then we don't need anything else to be husband and wife."

"That..." Shock as clear as day in her voice, "had to be the most romantic thing you have ever said to me."

Sherlock made a sound that landed somewhere between a chuckle and an exasperated sigh.

"If we live through this I promise to tell you many more, I will even give you a wedding, only marry me!"

Though time was of the essence, Jane allowed herself a smile as she basked in the joy of the moment. After all, she had so few moments left.

"I would love to marry you Sherlock, no matter what the circumstances."

And just like that, they were married. No vows were needed, they had no doubts.  
It was no dream-come-true-fairytale wedding, but it was all Jane needed.

* * *

Silence.  
There were no more sounds, even their labored breathing and pain had become part of the background.  
There were no thoughts or tears.  
Death came dressed in quiet darkness.  
Just darkness. No color, no sound, no emotions, and no words. Just nothing…  
except…  
the…  
end.

* * *

_Thud. Thud. THUD. BOOM!  
_

No, Jane was dead, she had to be. How else could her whole world have gone from smothering black to blinding white?  
The brightness was painful, too painful to be good, and too painful for her to be dead. A gust of cool fresh air surrounded her, relieving a horrible pain off her chest. Her head was another matter, it felt like it was being pounded with a sledgehammer.

It took a fair amount of blinking, and squinting for Jane's eyes to work well enough to see that some sort of hole had been made in the wall to her back left. With still very sore eyes, Jane was able to make out that they had been imprisoned in a small square shaped room. By what she could see, the pillar they were tied to was located in the center of the room.  
Hearing voices, Jane squinted into the brightness to see who had come to their rescue.

A dark shadow suddenly fell upon the wall. The distortion of the light made the image look like some form of demon.

"_Wasn't that just lovely?_"

Speaking of demons.

A shiver of major proportions ran through Jane's body. And it had nothing to do with the now chilling fresh air.  
Jim Moriarty, _of course_ it had been him! Who else would find amusement in bringing them to the brink of death, just to snatch them away from it at the last second?  
The peaceful and warm atmosphere was now thoroughly destroyed. Jane wished she could just wrap herself in Sherlock's embrace and forget about everything else.  
Or at least hold his hand.

"_Very entertaining_! I couldn't have hoped for better!" Moriarty all but skipped over to Sherlock, clapping his hands in delight. "Though you could have gotten things over with a lot faster than that. I was almost worried you two would _die_ before I had my fun!"

The effects of nearly dying of cerebral hypoxia still lingered, leaving Sherlock only able to fix Moriarty with (what he hoped was) a heated glare.

"And why **did** you let us live?" He asked.

Moriarty shook his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world.

"To see if what you told me was true _of course_! And the prospect of imminent death has a way of bringing out the _honesty_ in people." His gleeful look fell from his face. "Although, I can't say I'm not a little disappointed that you were in fact telling the truth. You've ruined the game."

"What game?" Jane asked no one in particular. Both men ignored her in favor of continuing their spat.

"You are just as _ordinary_ as everyone else. You could have been _sooo_ much more, but _nooo_, you had to be _boorrriinng_." He looked genuinely disappointed, as if Sherlock was a vaguely interesting toy that had broken.

Sherlock merely huffed, "Can we skip to the part when you tell us how you _really_ plan to kill us. I have a honeymoon I'd like to get to."

The man straightened out his Westwood suit, ignoring the last part of what Sherlock had said.

"Oh I am not going to kill _you_, I'm going to kill _her_. After all, she is the one responsible for making you so pathetically weak."

Sherlock's heart fluttered in panic, his anxiety only heightened when a feminine voice cried out in protest.

"Sherlock is not weak!"

Both men turned towards her, well Moriarty about-faced her while Sherlock rotated his neck in an attempt to face her.

Anger had swelled up in her, causing her not to think twice about coming to her best friend's defense.

"He is not weak." She repeated, looking straight into the crazed psychopath's eyes.

"He didn't lose your ridiculous game, if anything he won!"

There was a glimmer of surprise and puzzlement, before it vanished from the consulting criminal's face.

"Now Sherlock has something greater than anything your game could offer. He has love. And no matter how cheesy that sounds, it means that you could take away his reputation, even his life, and it won't matter because nothing you could ever do can take away that love. I wouldn't expect someone who's never been in love to understand."

Jane wasn't even sure what she had been trying to accomplish with her little outburst. Besides the fact that she had been close to rambling, there really was no point in trying to explain something like that to a man who _killed_ out of boredom.

Nevertheless, she kept her fixed look right on his face, because by golly she was a soldier and she was not going to go down without a fight.

The man, who was the target of Jane's black look, was…quite perplexed. Here the miss doctor was, just told that she was going to be killed, and she jumps to defend the person who all but led her to this death?

This was a sensation that was very rare for Moriarty. It was the same uneasiness he had felt back at the Pool, when Dr. Watson had jumped onto him in an (failed) attempt to help Sherlock escape. This feeling made him edgy and unsettled. _He hated it_. And he planned to thoroughly _crush_ it. Or at least crush the person who seemed to generate that feeling in him.

"Well, now we will get to see how in love you really are Sherlock." Moriarty said, clearly speaking to Sherlock but still staring at Jane.

The madman took a step back and snapped his fingers. Before Jane knew it, two very stout men she had failed to notice were untying her from the pillar, and dragging her over to the opposite side of the room.  
To the wall Sherlock was facing.

While struggling to get her feet back from under her, Jane frantically searched for the man she had just married.  
When she caught sight of him, her heart swelled and ached all at once. The remnants of the earlier beating were still visable, if his black eye was anything to go by. There were trails of blood and sweat running down the side of his face, his dark curls hung in a mattered mess. Jane guessed she probably didn't look any better.

Her father would be turning in his grave if he knew the state she had gotten married in, guess that was life with Sherlock though. Not that she would have it any other way.

Their eyes meet, for the first time as husband and wife. And in Jane's humble opinion, there had never been a more handsome man.

Tossing the man she loved what she hoped was a brave smile, Jane directed her focus to the demise that was intended for her.

Blinking in bafflement, she struggled as the men fastened her wrists to a pair of chains hanging from the celling. Questioning how the chains had managed to escape her notice, she tested her bonds. They were tight enough to keep her arms above her head, but low enough to where her feet were planted squarely on the ground.

Ignoring the metal cuffs that were beginning to chaff her already bruised wrists, Jane squared her shoulders (to the best of her ability), and listened as Moriarty began to speak again.

"Since our last game was _cut-short_, here's a new one called '_How Stubborn Can You Be?_' Now this game has only one outcome, _Ms. Watson's death_. And you, _dear_ Sherlock, are the one who gets to decide how much she has to _suffer_ before she goes."

Sherlock tried in vain to keep his composer, but his control was slipping quickly. Moriarty never made empty threats. He was really going to kill Jane.  
And worse that that, Jim was going to use him to hurt Jane.

Glad to finally see his _ex-nemesis_ shaken, Jim continued his cheery explanation.

"_Here's_ how it goes. You see, _Jane_ here is going to be tortured to death, _unless_ one of you _convincingly_ admits how much you actually _don't_ love the other. If you do that then I'll allow her to have a quick bullet-to-the-head death."

A gruff man stepped forward with an expressionless face, a large blunt whip in hand. But that man became the least of Sherlock's worries when another goon stepped out holding a bright yellow cattle prod.

"_Don't worry_, the prod's shock won't kill her." Moriarty said, smiling at the couple's ever increasing distress, "Though in the state she's in right now, it _might_ cause a bit of brain damage. _Oh wellll_, not like you were using it, right Dr. Watson?"

Jane only threw him a glare, refusing to rise to the bait. Besides, she had other things to worry about right now.

Like the fact that the scary guy holding the whip was reeling his arm backwards, ready to strike.

"_But that's not allll_." Moriarty using his annoyingly high-pitched voice again. "Sherlock you have to count every blow the whip lands. If you miss a number, or take too long to say it, Janey here gets electrocuted. Ready?"

Moriarty was crazy if he thought he could-

_**Crack!**_

"_One!_"

Jane barely caught the yell of pain that threatened to spill out, only choking out a stuttered gasp instead. Quickly mentally preparing herself for the next blow, she vowed not to give the madman the satisfaction of hearing her discomfort.

_**Crack! Crack!**_

"_Tw-wo! Th-h-hree!"_

Sherlock cursed the stammer in his voice, he couldn't afford to miscall a number. He had to get himself together, for Jane's sake. But he would never deny loving her, and he knew she wouldn't either. He would not lose this game.

* * *

They made it to ten without any mishaps.  
But around the twelfth strike, Jane's shirt was in tatters. She could feel the blood running down her back, and she was no longer trying to hold back her tears.  
And when the next blow of the whip cracked against her back, Jane couldn't contain the pain.  
She let out a blood-curdling yell. And that was the first number Sherlock missed.

* * *

Jane wasn't sure how much more she could take of this.  
Every hit burned. And the sting of the shock had lit her whole body up in agony.

She had a moment of respite when the man paused, pacing behind her as if choosing where to strike the whip next.

Never one to pass the chance to gloat at his _favorite_ high-functioning sociopath, Moriarty leaned against the pillar so that he was looming over Sherlock.

"What's the matter _Sherly_? You were so chatty earlier, haven't you got _anything_ else to say?"

Sherlock kept his eyes resolutely on Jane.  
But Jane wasn't about to let that over-dressed weasel antagonize her man.

Through her heavy breathing she panted out,

"Sherlock, I want to name our son either Henry or Hamish, if it's a girl then maybe Victoria."

Moriarty made a signal to his lackey that brought an onslaught of four fast paced blows to Jane's back.

_**Crack!Crack!**__**Crack!Crack!**_

Taken by surprise once again, Sherlock growled in frustration at himself for missing yet another number. He winced at Jane's pain-filled scream as the cattle prod shocked her.

* * *

Clear signs of exhaustion were being to show themselves on the good doctor.  
Her skin was sickly pale, her back had multiple blood-flowing tears, she wasn't even holding herself up anymore. Her body hung limply from the chains.

And yet, she still refused to crack.

Actually, both of them still had yet to give in, but Jim couldn't help but be captivated by the doctor. Leaving his spot from Sherlock's side, he drew closer to Dr. Watson.

Sure he had seen other people subjected to this kind of torture, but they had all given in at the end. All of them crying, begging for their lives, but not her. No, she was facing death like a good little soldier, for the second time in a day.

What was it about this _infuriating woman_, that he could not figure out?

Not to mention that the _dreadful_ feeling from earlier was still refusing to disappear. It had only progressed through the torture session.  
Powerless to curtail his curiosity, he lend in to get a better look at his prisoner.

What Moriarty didn't know was that even in her pain-muddled state of mind, Jane was still able to detect that he had come into range.

Using all of her remaining strength, Jane thrust her head upwards. She was rewarded with a satisfying crunch and a gasp of pain.  
A smug feeling began to fill her, and she pushed past her exhausted haze to catch a glimpse of the harm she had inflicted.  
But any gratification Jane felt, slowly began to slip away.

Because for some ludicrous reason, the bugger she had just injured was gazing down on her with a strangely _fond_(?) look.  
Unable and unwilling to take any more of the man's craziness, Jane opted for switching her focus to staring at the floor and concentrating on not passing out.

Maybe the good doctor wasn't so boring after all.  
Burning pain seared through his most likely broken, if not badly damaged, nose. One of his men rushed forward but Moriarty waved him off. The men were beginning to look slightly uneasy, which was probably due to the way Moriarty was smiling down at the person who had just head-butted him.

Perhaps Dr. Watson was worth more interest than he had previously thought.

"Oh no."

Moriarty turned around in time to see Sherlock's expression of helpless dismay, before it faded into intense rage.

Moriarty offered him a rueful smile.

"Guess, I'm starting to understand what you see in _her_."

Turning away from the detective, who had now worked himself into a fit of renewed struggles, Moriarty began to calculate how he should proceed with investigating his newfound interest.  
His phone beeped, and without much concern, he pulled it out lazily to read the text message. It was Sebastian, probably wondering what was taking so long with the killing.  
Well, the death of Sherlock's pet didn't really suit him now _did it_?

Wrinkling his nose at the thought of Jane _only_ belonging to Sherlock (_He'd have to fix that_), Moriarty read the text message, and his eyes narrowed instantly.

It seemed the Ice Man had found them. Looked like playtime was over. Pity.

She was fading, Jane could feel it. She had put every last effort of resistance into that attack, and the pain was becoming too much to bear. Her vision was blurry, she couldn't really focus on anything. All she could hear were loud voices, running, curses, and a sudden massive rush movement.

The last thing her mind was able to fully register was the extremely familiar sound of one very annoyed umbrella-wilding British man, before everything dwindled into darkness.

* * *

_**To be continued**_**_…_**


End file.
